


Displacement

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Complicated Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 20:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18506452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: It was some stupid thing by one of the student wizards that did it. Student wizards, the idiots, and now—“I don’t care how it happened, Mr Stibbons,” Vimes said, finally, and Ponder’s mouth clicked shut. The Archchancellor was sitting down on a bench, and he was bouncing Lipwig on his knee and talking quietly to Carrot and Sacharissa, who were seated on the bench with him. Adora Belle and William de Worde were asking increasingly pointed questions of the Lecturer in Recent Runes, who was fidgeting slightly under their focused gaze.They were—A bit younger than Young Sam, he thought. By several years, in fact. They were what, four, five?





	Displacement

It was some stupid thing by one of the student wizards that did it. Ponder Stibbons was hurriedly explaining it, and _had_ been hurriedly explaining it for the past twenty minutes. Vimes was doing his best to look like he was listening, but it was hard to concentrate, looking at them, _looking_ at them—

Moist von Lipwig, the Postmaster General, the Master of the Royal Mint, Chairman of the Grand Trunk Semaphore Company, and… A few other things, Vimes supposed, although he wasn’t in the mood to list them, and usually when he got down to the choicest labels, Sybil told him off for being unkind. _Anyway_. Moist von Lipwig, titles included, his wife smoking beside him, had been giving an announcement in Sator Square, something to do with the Sto Plains Railway, and of course, the contingent from the Times had been present – both editors, this time, and as ever, their chief iconographer – and so had Carrot. Carrot, Vimes knew, had been right at the front of the crowd, and he’d stepped forward to helpfully recite the city ordinance Lipwig had asked him for—

It had happened so damned _quick_ , and the damned student had just thought it’d be a good way to give the Postmaster a bit of _oomph_ , a spotlight, but he’d messed up the words.

Student wizards, the _idiots_ , and now—

“I don’t care how it _happened_ , Mr Stibbons,” Vimes said, finally, and Ponder’s mouth clicked shut. The Archchancellor was sitting down on a bench, and he was bouncing Lipwig on his knee and talking quietly to Carrot and Sacharissa, who were seated on the bench with him. Adora Belle and William de Worde were asking increasingly pointed questions of the Lecturer in Recent Runes, who was fidgeting slightly under their focused gaze.

They were—

A bit younger than Young Sam, he thought. By several years, in fact. They were, what, four or five?

They looked about that.

Rushed into a café as they had with them, all of them were still in the shirts they were wearing, bar Sacharissa and Adora Belle: Sacharissa was wearing a spare shirt of Otto’s, drawn from within one of his pockets, and Adora Belle was wrapped in a cardigan. The Archchancellor had put Lipwig’s jacket on Carrot, although it was too big for him.

All their clothes were too big for them.

They were quiet at the moment, although the five of them were growing increasingly restless, and Vimes knew from Young Sam that restless four-year-olds would be a lot to manage, let alone _five_ of them. They didn’t seem to know what had happened, exactly, were confused and uncertain, although Ridcully seemed to be doing well enough with Lipwig…

“Can you _fix_ it?” Vimes asked.

“Needs time,” Ridcully said as he gently ruffled Lipwig’s hair, and Lipwig laughed. “We’ll have to go over exactly what he said, make sure we get it right to turn them back. We’ll have to, uh— What was it you were calling it, Stibbons? Something about engineers, what?”

“Reverse-engineer it, Archchancellor,” Ponder said.

“Commander Vimes,” said the voice behind him. Quietly familiar, of course, was Drumknott’s voice, although Vimes hadn’t heard him walk in. “Mr Chriek.”

“Ah, hallo, Mr Drumknott,” Otto said quietly. Vimes had never seen the vampire look quite so pale, and now he was looking between Sacharissa and William each, and Vimes didn’t think he was imagining the fact that the man was _trembling_.

One might think, faced with one’s lovers abruptly made transformed – perhaps into animals, or into some strange object – that one might be, in immediacy, protective. It is possible that were Sacharissa and William, to whom Otto was utterly devoted, had been transformed into cats, or some other small animal, the situation would be different indeed.

But—

 _Children_.

Otto _liked_ children, he did, but these were not mere strange children, wandering about and into the path of his iconograph, or stopping to ask him questions about his newts or his sunglasses or his funny jacket with its many pockets. These were… He felt conflicted and uncertain, more than slightly nauseated, and he turned his head away. These were his _lovers_. He laid with them, every night, and this was—

“S’alright,” Vimes said, patting his shoulder awkwardly. He’d never seen Otto Chriek actually _unnerved_ before, let alone this upset. Otto heaved in a gasp, although he did not strictly need to breathe. It did not make him feel better. The worry was burning within him, twisting alongside the desperate nausea he felt, at seeing shades of the people he knew, that he loved, as _children_ , so small, so _young_ —

“We’ll bring them back to the Palace,” Drumknott said quietly, and to Vimes’ surprise, he delicately touched Otto’s other arm. “That they might be safe.”

“I should take care of them,” Otto said guiltily, and his very stomach roiled at the prospect. They were so helpless, and yet— What did they remember of him? How could a child comprehend, _how_ …? He set his jaw. “Are— Excuse me, please, but vill they be alright?”

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Ponder said hurriedly. “It’s simple, we just—”

“No,” Otto said hurriedly. “No, no, please, don’t be explainink it to me, please, no, but I… I don’t think that I can take care of— It, I—” He looked sick with anxiety. Of course, the trio from the _Times_ … For just a moment, Vimes imagined what it’d be like if he were faced with Sybil, abruptly a child, and he remembered when he’d met her at sixteen, how _wrong_ it had felt, how quickly he’d run, how… “I really should, I know, and I feel… I am feelink bad, yes, but they are my, I can’t, I cannot—”

“You oughtn’t,” Drumknott murmured. If he was as unnerved as Vimes and Otto, he didn’t show it at all, and brought to the situation an exaggerated calm that was as soothing as it was unexpected. “It feels unnatural because it is, Mr Chriek. There is no shame in feeling ill-fit for it. Mr de Worde, Miss Dearheart?”

“Mr Drumknott,” said William quietly, and Vimes watched the way Mr Drumknott dropped immediately into a crouch, taking up the boy’s attention as he stepped forward. “I know you… You work for the man.”

“For the Patrician,” Drumknott said quietly. “He’s very keen to see you. May I take you to see him?”

“Yes,” William said. “Yes, please.” He was strangely eloquent for such a little boy, and Vimes watched as Drumknott reached out his hands. William hesitated, looking at Drumknott’s palms as if they were as-yet unheard of weapons.

“May I pick you up?” Mr Drumknott asked.

“Will you drop me?” William asked. Vimes frowned. It was asked in an uncertain way, as if the boy had never been picked up before, but Drumknott, for whatever reason, didn’t seem surprised.

“No,” Mr Drumknott said in a firm but gentle voice. “No, never.”

“Alright,” William mumbled, and Vimes watched the way he drew William up beneath his arms, supporting the boy against his hip and gently patting his shoulder.

“I wanna see Vet’nari too,” said Lipwig quickly, clambering quickly from Ridcully’s lap and rushing forward, and Drumknott’s lips shifted into a smile as his palm gently touched the top of Lipwig’s head. He didn’t seem to be perturbed by the situation whatsoever, and Vimes cleared his throat as he tried to take on the same easy neutrality. “I wanna see him too, Mr Drumknott, _me too_ —”

“Very well, Mr Lipwig: do take my hand.”

Lipwig did, immediately. He was bouncing on his little bare feet, and swinging slightly from the hand in question, but Drumknott didn’t seem to mind.

“Miss Dearheart?” Drumknott asked.

The little girl, who didn’t seem to be nearly as severe as the _normal_ Adora Belle Dearheart, with her pale, rounded cheeks, shifted uncertainly on her feet. “This is… strange,” she said. “I don’t like it.”

“The wizards will fix it soon,” Drumknott said. “In the meantime, we must to the Palace, and get you some clean clothes.”

“Alright,” Adora Belle muttered.

“Good girl. Take Commander Vimes’ hand, won’t you? Archchancellor, would you be so kind as to…?”

Ridcully was already on his feet, bouncing Carrot on one hip and Sacharissa on the other, and the two of them were each laughing in their places, grabbing hold of the front of Ridcully’s prodigious robes. Vimes looked down at Adora Belle, who had one hand on her hip, and the other one emphatically held up toward him. In her cherubically round cheeks and her big eyes, her pouting mouth, he could see the beginnings of the expression that could make any fool in Ankh-Morpork stop in his tracks, and scramble desperately away from the range of her stiletto heels.

Vimes took hold of her hand, and he followed Drumknott and Ridcully out toward the coach.

“Ishmael will accompany you back to the University,” Drumknott said to Ridcully as he helped William into the coach’s cabin, settling him down on the bench. He lifted each of the children easily, setting them down again. “May I lift you, Miss Dearheart?”

“Mmm,” Adora Belle said, and Drumknott took her gently under the arms, drawing her into the coach as he himself stepped up. He sat down on the bench between Adora Belle and William, but immediately Lipwig clambered forward and into his lap. Drumknott’s eyebrows raised, but he supported the little boy’s back, letting him rest in his place.

“There appears to be space for you in the coach, Commander,” Mr Drumknott said dryly, and Vimes smiled slightly despite the discomfort twisting in his belly, so he drew himself up into the coach, sitting across from Drumknott, with Carrot and Sacharissa.

“C’mmander,” Carrot said, his accent even thicker than before, and he fell forwards, shoving his face against Vimes’ side and hugging him, seemingly uncaring of the cold polish of his breastplate. Vimes exhaled, patting the boy’s shoulder, and he thought of when Sam was this age, when he was this _small_ … Bigger than the other children, that much was true, taller and broader, but still so small.

“You’re worried, then,” Vimes said to Drumknott in an undertone. “About them being at risk?”

“They _can_ hear you, Commander,” Drumknott said quietly, and tapped twice against the roof of the carriage. “Children,” he said warmly as the coach rattled into movement, and Adora Belle gave a little yip of noise, shifting closer to Drumknott and Lipwig as she looked out of the window. It was rehearsed, almost. He didn’t have children, no, but he had a nephew and nieces, Vimes thought. How much time did he spend with them? Enough, obviously. “What animals can you name that begin with A?”

“Alligator,” William said. “Ape. Alpaca. Arachnid. Adder. Asp. Ant.”

“ _A_ cat,” Lipwig said. “ _A_ dog. _A_ monkey—”

“That’s _cheating_!” snapped Sacharissa.

“No, it isn’t,” said Adora Belle, a slight smirk tugging at her mouth. “It’s _smart_.”

Carrot, seemingly incognizant of the conflict, said, “Ass.”

“Very good, lad,” Vimes said, patting his shoulder and looking at the young Mr Lipwig, who seemed gleeful in his provocation of Sacharissa and William both. “You got it in one.” And just like that, the children were chattering with one another, arguing from one round to the next, and scarcely seemed to notice the rattle of the cart around them over the cobbles.

**♔** **☩** **♔** **☩** **♔** **☩** **♔**

When they got to the Palace, Vimes initially floundered, unsure how they were meant to corral five children at once as each of them clambered down from the coach, but Drumknott said, in a sudden manner, “Quick! Everybody get hold of someone’s hand! Quickly, quickly— That’s it, there you are, well done, well done!”

In a flash, Vimes had Carrot’s hand holding onto his; Carrot held onto Sacharissa’s hand, which held William’s, which held Adora Belle’s, which held Moist’s, with Drumknott at the end of the chain. It was so… _Fast_. Vimes stared at Drumknott as he said briskly, “Now, everyone keep hold of one another! Like elephants, aren’t we?”

“We don’t poo enough to be elephants,” Adora Belle said.

“Ugh!” Sacharissa complained, but Moist and Carrot both laughed, and William gave a small, shy smile, looking down toward the ground. Ah, Vimes thought. Felicity Beedle really knew her audience. Four in five children just _love_ poo.

“That is true,” Drumknott allowed, and Vimes let himself be led by the chain of children and Mr Drumknott. “And nor are we quite so large, nor quite so grey, and nor do we have great long trunks with which to scratch behind our ears. What are some other ways we are different from elephants? Capt— Carrot?”

“We walk on two legs, not four,” Carrot said.

“Very good,” Drumknott said. “Adora Belle?”

“They probably wee more as well,” Adora Belle said wisely. Moist snickered, and William let out a quiet chuckle.

“They hold each other’s tails,” Sacharissa said earnestly, “instead of holding hands.”

“Very good, ladies,” Drumknott said as they entered the Palace, and began leading them all up the stairs. “Mr— William?”

“Elephants aren’t cruel to one another,” William said quietly. Vimes stared down at the little boy, and tried his best to measure him against the confident, dangerously inquisitive man he normally went toe-to-toe with. “People are.”

“ _Very_ astute,” Drumknott said, his voice full of praise as Vimes stared at the back of their heads in alarm. “And you, Moist, what do you think?”

“I don’t think elephants can go upstairs,” Moist said. “Or… Not these ones. ‘Cause it’s too narrow— Er. Mr Drumknott?”

“Yes, Moist?”

“I’m talking Morporkian?”

“You are.”

“But I’m from Lipwig. That’s in Überwald. I live in a place called Schmaltzberg, and there’s fat mines.”

“Do they eat too much?” asked Adora Belle. Moist burst into laughter, his anxiety forgotten, and Adora Belle laughed too. Carrot was smiling, as were Sacharissa and William, now, as they came up into the corridor of the Oblong Office, and Drumknott rapped his knuckles upon the wooden surface of the door.

“Now,” Drumknott said, turning to look seriously at the children, dropping once more into a crouch and letting them gather around him in a semi-circle. “You _mustn’t_ crowd around Lord Vetinari’s dog, alright? He’s very small, and very tired, and lots of big boys and girls rushing toward him will give him a fright, don’t you think?”

The children hesitated, looking at one another, but then each of them nodded.

“Mr Fusspot?” Adora Belle asked.

“Yes,” Drumknott said warmly. “Yes, that’s him. Let him come toward you, alright? In you come.”

He pushed the door open, and Moist rushed ahead of the other children as they filtered into the room.

“Vet’nari!” Moist cried as they rushed into the Oblong Office, and when Vetinari turned from the window, he acted in one smooth movement: he bent at the hip, caught the little boy under his arms, and he lifted him up, immediately bringing Moist to his chest, resting against his waist.

“Mr Lipwig,” Vetinari said in a measured, quiet tone. If having the Postmaster General in his arms, looking for all the world like a little boy and for all the world _being_ a little boy, perturbed him, he did not make it obvious. “And how are you this morning?”

“I’m _small_ ,” Moist said miserably, shoving his face into the Patrician’s breast, and Vetinari’s lips shifted into a small smile as he patted the boy’s back, and to Vimes’ surprise, he shifted slightly from one foot to the other, not actually _rocking_ the boy, but just moving slightly in his place. “I’m meant to be as big as you!”

“I know,” Vetinari said quietly, watching as Drumknott led the others into the room, letting them each hop up to sit on the chaise long in the corner of the room. Vimes followed after them, slowly pushing the door closed. “I know. The wizards will fix it, of course.”

“The wizards’re _idiots_ ,” Moist said emphatically.

“They know more than you might think,” Vetinari said, his thumb gently touching over the boy’s cheek, and drawing some hair out of the way of his eyes. It seemed absolutely automatic, and Vimes wondered, for a moment, if Vetinari missed not having children, as Patrician. He got on with Young Sam, and Young Sam liked the Patrician well enough, shook his hand when he saw him, chattered on to him, but… Vetinari looked natural, with a little boy in his arms. “Do you know your name?”

“Moist von Lipwig.”

“And how old are you?”

“Five,” Moist said, holding up one surprisingly clean hand and wiggling four fingers and a plump thumb.

“And how do we know one another?” Vetinari asked quietly.

Moist’s little face screwed up in concentration, his brow furrowing, his mouth twisting as he thought very deeply, and Vimes could see the moment where the confusion gave way to genuine distress. He wondered what it must be like, in the poor boy’s position, suddenly thrown into a smaller body, and _confused_ , knowing people, and not knowing why—

“It’s of no consequence,” Vetinari assured him. “Do you know these other children? You children, you know Moist? And here, we have… Sacharissa, and Adora Belle, of course… Carrot, and William.”

“Where’s my father?” William asked, sitting on the edge of the couch. He was looking uncertainly to Moist and Vetinari, and he was dragging at the hem of his shirt. “Are our parents going to come for us?”

“I want my father,” Adora Belle said. “I want to go home.”

“I want to go home as well,” Carrot said. “Please.”

“My parents will be annoyed,” Sacharissa said, “they won’t know where I am, and I’m not on my schedule, my dad likes me on my schedule and my mum will be anxious, I want to go home—”

“How far are we from Lipwig? I want my father, I want—”

All of the children were taking at once, except William, and Drumknott said sharply, “Ah!” and held up his finger to his lips. The children came to uncertain stops as each of the children turned to look at him.

“I don’t want to go home, please,” William said, with a quiet, nervous urgency. “I’d like to stay here.”

“You can stay as long as you like, William,” Drumknott said from his place just beside the chaise long, once more leaning back on his heels. He was very aware, Vimes supposed, of being down on the same level with the children. He wasn’t quite like Purity, who was much sterner when she needed Sam or his friends doing something, but he couldn’t deny that this method worked. “You’re all going to have to stay here with us for a little while, alright? I know it’s very hard, but we’re going to take care of you here, and we’re going to make it as fun as possible, like a little holiday.”

“When _we_ went on holiday,” Sacharissa said, “ _we_ went to the beach.”

“What’s a beach?” asked Carrot.

“Don’t you know what a beach is?” Sacharissa asked, raising her eyebrows.

“You’re an idiot,” Adora Belle said.

Carrot’s face fell.

“Carrot,” Drumknott said, “is a dwarf. He lives in a place very far away named _Copperhead_ , underground, with the other dwarves. They don’t have any beaches in the mines.”

“You don’t _look_ like a dwarf,” Moist said. “You don’t have a beard.”

“Many children don’t have beards, Mr Lipwig,” Vetinari said.

“Oh, yeah,” Moist said. “But he’s _tall_. For a dwarf boy.”

“I’ve got a dwarf name,” Carrot said proudly. “ _Kzad-bhat!”_

“Bless you,” Sacharissa said.

“Gesundheit,” said Moist. Carrot looked between them for a moment, seeming very uncertain, but then he smiled warmly, and Moist and Sacharissa both smiled back.

There was a crisp knock at the door, and after a small nod from Vetinari – it was never advised to do these things without being certain there were no booby traps in play – Vimes it, and allowed in a Dark Clerk with a wooden box in her arms.

“Set that down here, would you, Larynxa?” Drumknott asked, gesturing to a small table beside the chaise long, and Vimes could see the children craning to see inside as Larynxa, a woman in her mid-forties with cascades of auburn hair that could make Sybil’s best wigs wriggle enviously, drew out from the box a screen, which she unfolded and set out. It was only four feet high, but it was made of neat wood, patterned with carved dragons. “Thank you.”

“We need you into some proper clothes,” Vetinari said as Larynxa took her leave.

“I like _my_ clothes,” Moist said immediately.

“These will be your clothes,” Vetinari said, arching an eyebrow at him. “You will be wearing them, and therefore, they shall be yours. I’ll hardly take them away from you.” Moist seemed to consider this for a long moment, his brow furrowing.

“But— I like… I like _my_ clothes,” Moist said. “Y’know, like this.” He held up the demonstrative sleeve of his golden shirt, which he was all but swimming in, and which had to be dragged right up to allow his fingers to peek out from the end.

“Is it the colour you like, or perhaps the fit?”

Moist furrowed his brow very deeply, scowling at Vetinari, whose expression was blandly good-natured. It was not the sort of expression Vimes usually saw on his face, and judging by Moist’s intense distrust, he wasn’t used to it either.

“That’s… ironical. Or. Something.”

“Very _good_ , Mr Lipwig,” Vetinari murmured.

“You’re going to make me wear them other clothes, aren’t you?” Moist asked, with a put-upon misery that somehow fitted a five-year-old boy exactly, and Vimes put his fist up to his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

“I fear, Mr Lipwig, that I am, yes,” Vetinari said.

Moist sighed, and fell back in Vetinari’s arms, letting his head hang down. “ _Fine_ ,” he said resignedly. His head shot up. “Vet’nari?”

“Hm?”

“You’re not gonna kill me, are you?”

“Or me?” asked William from the chaise long. The children were very suddenly quite quiet, and Vimes inhaled, but Vetinari smiled slightly as he moved across the room, dropping into a very slow crouch on the ground beside Drumknott. His long fingers were gentle as they patted Moist’s back.

“I would _never_ kill you,” Vetinari said very seriously. “I would not so much as harm a hair upon your heads.”

“Never?” Moist asked.

“Never never?” prompted William.

“Not _ever_ ,” Vetinari murmured. “You can trust me.”

“He doesn’t ever harm anybody,” Carrot said softly. “Not unless they hurt people. He just pretends to, ‘cause of politicing[1]. And you don’t hurt people, so he’d never hurt you not at all.”

“Oh, Mr Ironfoundersson,” Vetinari said. “You shall _ruin_ my reputation, saying such things.”

He was smiling.

Setting Moist gently down beside Mr Drumknott, he asked quietly, “Will you be able to get them dressed?”

“Yes,” Drumknott said. Vimes didn’t miss the way that Vetinari’s fingers touched his clerk’s shoulder for just a moment, the glance that passed between them, and then he came back toward Vimes, the two of them moving out into the corridor.

“You have people to look after them?” Vimes asked.

Vetinari gave him a sharp stare. “ _Yes_ ,” he said archly. “Myself and Mr Drumknott. Commander, I can’t entrust them to just anybody, even amongst my clerks. Between the five of them, these are some of the most crucial people in the city, in a state of great vulnerability, and between them, they are also some of the most _devious_ , particularly as young minds.”

“Not Carrot,” Vimes said, almost reflexively.

“And as a lawman, I have no doubt he will assist in keeping the rest in line,” Vetinari said. “But moreover, they trust Mr Drumknott and I, and we know how to… keep them in line. I have no doubt Mr Lipwig will try an escape at least once: it is in his nature.”

“You two’re… not parents,” Vimes said slowly. He knew that there was an… _involvement_ , between Drumknott and Vetinari. Sybil referenced it, obliquely, from time to time, treated it as a neat little fact, that the two were involved together… And really, the more that Vimes thought about it, the more he noted that they didn’t really make an effort to _hide_ it. It was simply not something most people wanted to consider. But they were hardly married, and they didn’t… “You sure you can…?”

He trailed off. Vetinari was giving him a very cold, quietly calculating look, his jaw set, his lips in a very thin line.

“Alright,” Vimes said, spreading his hands. “But I could take— Well, I could take Carrot.” That was unfair of him, he supposed. But Carrot, Carrot was… _Theirs_. He was the Watch’s, and he cared about Carrot. He and Sybil both cared about Carrot, and Purity—

“We ought keep them all together,” Vetinari said quietly. “In case of anything changing in the spell.” He looked away, down the corridor, and Vimes saw his expression, saw his face pale, his features stark, saw a slight twitch in his jaw. “Already, Vimes, I am aware that there will be _unsavoury_ elements within the city, wishing to take advantage of this opportunity as it is proffered. If a thing happened to _any_ of those individuals, I would wreak havoc upon the artificers of the event, but _now_?”

Vetinari did not go on, but Vimes saw the dark spark of utter _fury_ in his cold, blue eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Vimes said lowly. “I’ll… leave you to it.”

**♔** **☩** **♔** **☩** **♔** **☩** **♔**

“I can’t do the buttons,” Sacharissa said anxiously from behind the screen.

“Would you like me to help you?” Drumknott asked softly. His back was against it, his gaze forward.

“ _No_ ,” Sacharissa said. “I don’t want you seeing me undressed. But Mum normally helps me, she always lays my outfits for me, she doesn’t let me…”

“That’s alright,” Drumknott said. “Would you like for me to close my eyes like I did with Adora Belle, and help you without looking, or do you think you can do it yourself?”

“Um,” Sacharissa said slowly, but then released an excited noise. “Oh, I got one! Oh, I think I can do it!”

“Very good, Sacharissa,” Drumknott said warmly, and he inhaled slowly, rising above the natural absurdity of the situation, the utter abstractionism in seeing some of Ankh-Morpork’s most influential reduced to young children. It would not do, of course, to show his anxiety. That would not assist them, not when they had no memory of their situation, not when they could not comprehend it themselves.

Drumknott, cross-legged upon the floor, watched Carrot and Moist, who were both sprawled on the floor, comparing the lengths of their respective arms and legs, and laughing together. They kept telling one another words of dwarfish and Überwaldian respectively, and seemed to be getting on rather well. Adora Belle was watching them, and now and then, she would declare Moist to be an idiot, to which Moist would teach her a new word for idiot in Überwaldian.

William was sitting beside Drumknott, Mr Fusspot snoring in his lap. The dog was wrapped neatly in William’s arms, his head resting against the little boy’s chest, and William was gently stroking his back, his nose pressed against the top of the dog’s head. He did not sit close enough to touch Drumknott: there was a good half a foot of space between them, but he copied the way Drumknott sat, copied his body language almost precisely.

There were similarities, Drumknott knew, between himself and young Mr de Worde. He had been careful in dressing each of them, making sure he didn’t touch them more than they were comfortable with – Moist, it was plain, was a naturally tactile child, didn’t mind being picked up or patted, and he trusted the adults around him. The other human children were used, too, to taking assistance in being dressed. Dwarves, of course, encouraged self-sufficiency from a very young age, and moreover, the dwarves wore slightly simpler clothing – complicated buttons and fastenings weren’t appealing, and moreover, could be _unsafe_ , in a crisis.

William, however, had required no assistance whatsoever, despite coming from the richest background, and undoubtedly used to servants all about him. He had dressed himself, quickly and quietly and with great efficiency. He had been swift in getting hold of clothes for the children, and while they weren’t tailored precisely to their sizes, they were as close as possible, and would for a few days. In the event that this went on for longer than that…

It did not bear thinking about.

He had caught a glimpse of de Worde’s back as he’d dressed himself, and even now, at apparently five years of age, his back had scars on it. Not so many as he did in current times, according to the reports from the Dark Clerks, but the marks were unmistakably from a belt. Lord de Worde, Drumknott was informed, had never deigned to perform the punishments himself, and had had his men perform them for him.

“We aren’t meant to be like this,” William said softly. He knew he was meant to be… taller. He remembered being taller, taller than Mr Drumknott. He remembered Mr Drumknott in a hospital bed, bandaged up and very injured, and he remembered Vetinari. Vetinari, he was the Patrician, the ruler of Ankh-Morpork, and he recalled that his father had never liked him, but… But the Patrician was someone else, he thought. His father talked about the Patrician, at times, said that he was the reason they didn’t go much to Ankh-Morpork. Not to William, of course, but to his brothers, who were older… And better. “I am… concerned.”

“I understand,” Drumknott said quietly. He had not been like William, when he’d been a little boy. His quiet, calm demeanour had come later, had been something he had forced himself to take on, only after his father had died. The young Rufus Drumknott had been a _monster_ , aggressive, cold, somewhat violent. “It must be overwhelming, to have your usual body displaced in such a way.”

“I do not recall,” William said slowly. “My body feels normal. I feel… but there are memories that don’t make sense. I have gaps in my recollection, and there is a lack of linear structure to my memory, I do not…” He inhaled sharply, the breath slightly ragged, and he felt his eyes sting. Reaching up, he delicately daubed at the side of his eye, wiping at the corner, and then he held Mr Fusspot more tightly. The dog sneezed, but then leaned back, licking ineffectually at the base of William’s chin. “What if my father comes for me?”

“If your father comes for you, I shall tell him that he cannot have you,” Drumknott said softly. “If he is _very_ difficult, Lord Vetinari will be forced to do the same.”

William rubbed at Mr Fusspot’s chest, feeling him snuffle and shift. “But— But he won’t… He won’t take no for an answer, Mr Drumknott, if he demands for me, he’ll want…” He trailed off. He did not want to think about it, what his father would do, about William behaving so badly, at _escaping_ , and being with political enemies, but he hadn’t escaped, had he? He’d been here, in Ankh-Morpork, and it was all so _confusing_. He couldn’t make head nor tail of it. And his head hurt.

“William,” Drumknott said softly, leaning in toward him and lowering his voice slightly, “you remember Lord Vetinari and I, don’t you? Enough to know that we won’t harm you, but enough to know that we are capable of harming… others?”

William, for a long moment, was silent. He looked at Mr Drumknott’s face, which was utterly expressionless. There was nothing to read in it, nothing whatsoever.

“Oh,” William said. He couldn’t quite… He was _aware_ , somehow, that he was not able to think as he usually did. It was hard to concentrate, hard to _comprehend_ things, and he was in such… He let out an uncomfortable noise, shifting, and Mr Drumknott cleaned closer to him.

“William, may I touch your forehead? I just want to check your temperature.”

“Okay,” William mumbled, feeling slightly dizzy, and Drumknott reached out, gently touching the backs of his knuckles to the boy’s skin. William let out a noise of complaint, although he didn’t pull away from him.

“I’m sorry, my hands are cold,” Drumknott murmured. “You don’t feel warm. Are you in pain?”

“My heard hurts,” William said miserably, and Drumknott exhaled.

“Alright,” he murmured. “I’ll get you some sort of analgesic when—”

He heard the shift of the boards in the corridor, of Lord Vetinari’s feet, and he stood, drawing up.

“Sacharissa, how are you doing?”

“I can’t get the top one,” she said frustratedly.

“Shall I do it?” Drumknott asked, and Sacharissa came out from behind the screen, an expression of pouting frustration on her face. She’d gotten all of the buttons right on the dress, though: it was only the top one that had given her trouble, at her collar, and he knelt forward to do it up for her. “You’ve done _very_ well, particularly as you don’t ordinarily do your own clothes, Sacharissa.”

“I took _ages_ ,” Sacharissa muttered.

“Not at all,” Drumknott said quietly, brushing out a crease from her shoulder and meeting her gaze. “And now you’ve done that, it will be easier the next time?”

“It used to be easier,” Sacharissa said. “My fingers were better.”

“I know,” Drumknott said lowly.

“Larynxa informs me the rooms downstairs are ready,” Vetinari said. “William, are you alright?”

“Yes,” William said immediately, slightly nervous as he looked _up_ at Vetinari. He was a tall man, _very_ tall, and although he was thin, he seemed… Was he always this big? William didn’t know. He’d always been taller, but now he seemed _gigantic_ —

Very slowly, Lord Vetinari lowered himself down onto the carpet, and Mr Fusspot stumbled from William’s lap, toward Vetinari instead. Moist and Carrot were on their feet, coming to him too, and Vetinari extended a hand to Moist, who ignored it, and crammed himself against Vetinari’s side, his arms wrapping tightly around the Patrician’s body. Vetinari laughed quietly, and he hesitated for a moment before he brought one hand up, drawing through Moist’s hair and gently ruffling it.

“Do your clothes meet with your approval, now?”

“They’d be better in gold,” Moist complained, and Vetinari smiled, gently squeezing his shoulder as he glanced to William.

“Are you alright, William?” he asked again, and William glanced to the Patrician.

“Yes,” he said again, and then looked to Drumknott, who gave the boy a small nod. “What rooms?”

“Why don’t we show you?” Vetinari asked, and William hesitated. Once more, he looked to Drumknott, and Drumknott gave another delicate inclination of his head. William nodded himself, and Vetinari stood to his feet.

“Will you carry me?” Moist asked.

“Mr Lipwig, I am an incredibly elderly and infirm man, and you are a _very_ tall young man, very nearly six years old,” Vetinari said. “Would you have me carry you everywhere?”

“You’re not elderly!” Moist declared, stamping one foot. “You’re like… thirty.”

“No, he _isn’t_ ,” Adora Belle said scathingly. “He’s at _least_ forty.”

“Do _not_ look so pleased with yourself,” Drumknott muttered as he stood from the floor, and Vetinari did not make any effort whatsoever to remove the smug smile from his features.

“Mr Drumknott, why shouldn’t I be pleased with myself? I am, at _least_ , forty.”

“Lord Vetinari is sixty-seven,” Drumknott said.

“Gods,” Moist said. “You might as well already be dead.”

“Sometimes, Mr Lipwig, I’m certain I am,” Vetinari said mildly, taking up Mr Fusspot’s leash and clipping it to the dog’s collar before holding the loop out to William, who hesitated a moment before he took it.

“How old are you?” asked Carrot with intent concentration, looking up at Drumknott.

“I’m thirty-nine,” Drumknott answered.

“Why aren’t you the same age?” demanded Sacharissa, with a sort of indignant tone to her voice.

“Scheduling error,” Vetinari said, and Drumknott covered his mouth to keep from laughing.

“But you’re _married_ ,” Sacharissa said. “Aren’t you? You’re grown-ups and you love each other, and stuff, so you have to be married.”

“They can’t get _married_ ,” Carrot said. “They’re both men.”

“But if they _don’t_ get married, then that’s not proper!”

“But—”

“Why don’t,” Vetinari broke in, “we walk downstairs? And no one shall carry anybody, and we shall see, hm?”

Sacharissa gave Carrot a firm stare, and then said, “but if you’re married, you should be the same age. And if you aren’t married, you _should_ be married, because people should be married, if they... You know.”

“I shall wait for Mr Drumknott to catch up to me, then,” Vetinari said, “and then we shall marry. Does that meet with your approval, Sacharissa?”

“That’s not how it works,” William said. He winced slightly, his fingers moving up to touch his forehead, his other hand loosely clasping Mr Fusspot’s leash, and Drumknott shared a glance with Vetinari. It was one thing, for the children to blurt out their confused understandings of that which they would only ever imply – if that – as their usual selves, but that was scarcely a concern, if one of them was in pain.

“Let’s the seven of us move downstairs,” Drumknott murmured.

“And Mr Fusspot,” Adora Belle said sharply. She was currently scratching the animal’s ears, and Mr Fusspot was slamming one back paw down upon the carpet like a rabbit.

“And Mr Fusspot,” Drumknott agreed.

They walked with Vetinari at the lead, Moist and Carrot slightly behind him, at ceach shoulder, and Adora Belle and William walked closer to Drumknott, Sacharissa between them, carrying Mr Fusspot in her arms. The dog was _very much_ enjoying the attention, so long as it was coming from one child at a time, and Drumknott wondered, later on, what they might remember, if anything.

He’d cleared the schedule for today, although tomorrow there was a guild meeting that would be inescapable, and in the event these events went on for over a week… There were fail safes in place, of course, for the loss of _one_ of these individuals, but all five? Even the de Wordes were crucial to the running of the city, despite not being within the government itself, and to run the city now, without that scrutiny—

The _Ankh-Morpork Times_ might go on, without _one_ of them, but without both? And poor Mr von Chriek…

“Here we are,” Lord Vetinari said, pushing open the door, and he let each of the children enter first. He’d had the usual secreted weapons hidden in the suite removed and taken out of the way, and it was childproofed as much as possible, most crucially, with the lock upon the door too high for them to reach, that they might not rush out into the Palace proper.

He and Mr Drumknott had planned for a great many eventualities, but _this_ …

This was unexpected.

“Shall we get married?” he asked lowly as Drumknott came toward him, and Drumknott gave him an irritable look.

“I need to get him an analgesic,” Drumknott said quietly.

“The tea you give me, for my headaches…” Even as he spoke, he was watching the children as they rushed about the room, examining with curiosity the chairs and sofas, pushing open the sliding door to the other room and launching themselves at the large bed. These were quarters kept for guests of political importance[2], and the bed was pillowy and broad.

“That’s made from willow bark, it isn’t good for children,” Drumknott said, shaking his head.

“Because of the salicylic acid,” Vetinari said, shaking his head. “My apologies, I didn’t think.”

“No,” Drumknott said, his lips twitching. “Because of the taste. I have a topical cream I can just settle a little of on his temples, made with arnica and cloves, however. I’ll be just a few minutes.” Vetinari caught him by his hand, drawing him closer, and Drumknott looked up at the other man, hesitating for just a moment. “My lord,” he said, but Vetinari merely squeezed his hand.

“I am,” Vetinari said quietly, “uncertain.”

“You needn’t be,” Drumknott said. “They like you. They trust you.”

“Not William.”

“He doesn’t trust anybody,” Drumknott replied, and he shifted his head slightly, into Vetinari’s palm where the other man cupped his cheek. They wouldn’t ordinarily touch one another like this, in front of others, in the middle of the day, but… These were extenuating circumstances. Weren’t they? “And he isn’t… wrong.”

“Are you gonna kiss?” Moist asked from beside Vetinari’s hip.

“Why, were you hoping we might kiss and be distracted, that you might escape into the corridor?” Vetinari asked.

Moist’s mouth dropped open. “No!” he said, unconvincingly.

Vetinari patted Drumknott’s cheek. “See you in a few minutes,” he murmured, and they drew apart. Drumknott waited until he heard the quiet click of the door’s lock before he turned back to go upstairs, toward his quarters, where he had his few salves together.

 

[1] The miniature Carrot pronounced “politicking” more similarly to the word “policing” than to its standard pronunciation.

[2] It should be noticed, however, that very few such individuals were brave enough to stay within the Palace’s walls.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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